The Quest for Ultimate Fluffmetal
by MetalBlastator
Summary: "Jack" and "Kate" have to survive three days of Rockharz festival to witness Avantasia play. Happens before "The Stench Of Purexo". Fluff may occur.
1. Chapter 1

It was potentially dangerous, to give two ex-Agents enough cash to spend the better part of the year on the road, mostly without aim. The buried-at-sea Ford Ka had given way to a nearly as battered Fiesta, an older model that the Ka was actually based on. But it did not have quite the same charm.

The summer metal festival season was going on, the July days almost intolerably hot now, and the Fiesta had turned its nose toward Ballenstedt, Germany, for three days of total mayhem at the Rockharz festival.

The festival area was surrounded by fields to every direction, and the camping space around the stages was almost like an ad-hoc city, an endless maze of tents and trailers. It was something Ian had never experienced in the States. With German efficiency, an official had led "Jack" and "Kate" to their own small lot. The plan was to sleep in a tent next to the Fiesta.

The kind of unsaid purpose of this leg of the trip was to revitalize their spirits, in the hope that the three days of raw metal assault would inspire and give aim. Though – could they be able to actually strike out with a new band line-up, while using their false identities? They would come under much more repeated scrutiny.

Ian assumed the total intake of beer would be something not of this world. And maybe that would also manage to shake things up in some manner.

At times, the trip under their fake identities had led Ian to dissociate in a manner he had not experienced before. There was the nagging idea that the world he was inhabiting was not actually real, or that he was actually dead, and could not really interact with anyone else, that he was only imagining the interactions. Well, Jo probably was the exception. That was at least good. Though if Ian was not imagining things and being totally paranoid, was she also somehow drifting away from him? It was inevitable that as the trip went on, there would be less things to discuss, and even emotions themselves would fade, as everything would repeat from day to day.

So the final hope was that the three days of metal, drinking and possibly pitting would also drive those imaginations away for good.

From the bargain bin of a rural supermarket, Ian had made a surprising but appropriate find – the Metal Opera I and II albums by the German group Avantasia, which was actually a side project of Edguy's vocalist Tobias Sammet. The two records formed a tale of epic proportions, of the Inquisition, a mystical dimension somewhere else, and the main character, who was a renegade monk of sorts, and longed to reunite with his stepsister, who had been caught for heresy.

The band would also headline the festival's final day.

Listening to the Metal Operas had potentially helped, but in a completely weird way. Ian thought he was imagining himself as the monk Gabriel, adapting the story to his own adventures as an Agent. The obvious comparison was the stretch of time when Jo had been taken by SCEPTRE while Ian had managed to escape from their lab complex, with the help of the rogue scientist. There was even a song called "Breaking Away."

Ian had taken note of Tobias' voice, which managed to be both aggressive when needed, and then almost – cute. Or fluffy. That was the word Ian had learned that often had to do with amateur or fan-made romantic writing. In any case, Ian thought he would have wanted to be able to sing like that. Though he was well aware he only managed thrash barks or death metal grunting.

Part one was playing from the Fiesta's stereo once more.

"Jack, at that rate you're going to drain the battery," Jo remarked from next to the tent.

She had already started the first beer. Kreator would finish the first day, and Ian hoped to be conscious at that point, so he had not started yet.

"True Germanic power metal. That could also be something to consider. If the black-thrash becomes a dead end," Ian remarked back, referring to the fragmented compositions the two had been bringing to life at an uneven pace on their cheap new guitars.

Jo's response came out almost harsh.

"No. Not really. Consider - would you really want to write lyrics about – I don't know, swords and thrones and crusades and dragons or whatever?"

"Well, it wouldn't have to be like that."

"We'd also need a proper singer with a high range. It's practically the most demanding genre."

She had a point; in Cyberpriest it had been a matter of René's creativity and intellect and aggression, not really his actual singing skill. The harsh barks he had utilized were something Ian could manage also, almost as good.

"What if you'd sing? You'd be almost like a female Yngwie. Though he only sings his shitty blues songs, I don't mean like that."

"Nah, I don't have a voice."

Ian thought that Jo's voice was really her guitar playing. Most of the time, it was just hyper-aggressive, pedal to the metal. Once or twice he had caught her playing something slow, haunting and minor-key, very beautiful actually, but she never wanted to compose songs like that, it seemed.

Just right now Jo appeared to be in a kind of negative mood, which was likely explained by the relentlessly hot weather. Ian knew he wasn't in his best spirits either. Potentially, the beer would help.

A minute of just Avantasia playing on the background followed.

Then, the sound of a beer can opening – it was time for Ian to start the intake as well. Enough time had been wasted.

"It would be funny – or not funny – to be summoned to fight right now," Jo turned the subject. "If there was a guitar-and-rifle signal pointed to the sky, and we knew we'd have to go."

It appeared her mood was already shifting, to something more humorous, but in an odd way. It was also dangerously close to blowing their cover if someone was listening. In the worst case – the remnants of SCEPTRE. Well, then they would fucking fight! Ian thought. According to the "Ballmer peak" graph, the right degree of intoxication would actually give an edge in initiative and reaction time, but it was very precarious.

With beer can in the other hand, Ian dug out the festival running order printout.

Grailknights would be starting on the Dark Stage. They should be somewhat ridiculous spandex superhero power metal, which was fitting.

"Hey, we go see Grailknights? That's just that kind of bat signal shit. And also swords and crusades probably."

Jo made to stand up and collected her backpack, which contained more beer. "Might as well go."


	2. Chapter 2

I'm still conscious, Ian thought as he banged his head. The amount of beer coursing in his system was legendary, and it was not helped by the full feeling in his stomach, brought on by an extra-large dish of festival food. Kreator was just like expected, the relentless pounding of the drums, and Mille Petrozza's high aggressive barking.

The night was already about as dark as it was going to be, and the flashing stage lights created an almost psychedelic feel. But Ian would not complain, in fact he was now feeling more alive than in the last week combined.

He also was fairly sure now that this was how metal was meant to be played. Not too cute.

Then the set was finally over, at 1 AM, and Ian was still conscious.

He had to search for a few moments to find Jo, who had stayed further in the back for the rest of the set.

"What about we go to see the town now? Look if the signal in the sky comes up?" he suggested.

"Sure. But you're not serious about that?"

"No, I'm not looking for a fight. I'd just fall on my ass."

This was a very truthful statement. But in any case, it was good to see Jo in relatively good spirits as well, though she had not gone into the pit or anything, despite thrash metal being exactly what she was home at.

They walked through the crowd, and as Ian had taken the earplugs off, he could pick up parts of the conversations. And suddenly it was like a descent to insanity, when Ian walked past a bearded, tattooed man who was talking animatedly to his friend.

"Hey, do you remember when the Mayan calendar was supposed to reset? I think there was some writing in the sky. Or then I was just so wasted I was imagining. Could have been a 4chan prank or something."

Ian fought an overwhelming urge to shout "It was us!" or something similar. But it was still not a wise idea to advertise the Agents of Metal. Especially considering the fake identities and trying to hide from the world.

.

Jo purposefully let herself hang back as they proceeded along the sidewalk, Ian in a meandering and unsure, but still very energetic manner. It appeared that he still had excess energy from the beer that needed to be burned off.

She considered the possibility that she was taking her cover persona too far; it would have made sense to enjoy the day much more openly, but the UK-born "Kate" was supposed to be somewhat reserved and negative in everything she did, and Jo did not want to break character. Besides, the memory loss episode had left its mark – she still was not a hundred percent sure what being her own self actually meant.

It was tough, hiding from the world. And it certainly was having an effect on Ian as well, though he seemed to be doing just fine, at least just now.

Ahead of them, close to an intersection, was a group of three guys, also headed to the town. The one in the center was tall and overweight; Jo urged Ian mentally to steer clear and not collide, for the results might be unexpected and suddenly violent.

Then Jo saw something happening, but it was not a collision.

Rather, an emission.

Ian stumbled around almost in a full circle, ending up just short of touching the men. As he bent slightly forward, his open mouth launched an almost gravity-defying stream of vomit, and it splashed mostly on the tall guy.

The reaction was instantaneous.

"_Du Arsch!" _the man shouted roughly, while Ian was still getting his bearings, staggering backward.

Then he vomited again, most of it splashing on the sidewalk, but also ricocheting onto the guys' shoes and trousers. Meanwhile Jo was just watching, almost as if time was slowing down, but there was very little she could do.

A shoving match and more curse words in German followed. Jo picked up pace, ready to go grab Ian for a quick getaway –

But then she saw the situation escalating yet more.

From the left, a car with blue stripes and the text POLIZEI curved into view.

As the shouting intensified, Ian stood in the middle, his hands up in a defensive posture that betrayed his Agent training that refused to go away. And the police car was coming to a halt next to the group.

Now Jo froze completely. She was being torn in two directions.

Of course she should go help Ian, no questions asked, but right now her mind could only imagine any contact with any law enforcement to be followed with an immediate arrest, discovery of her false ID, and extradition to the United States where she would face execution or outright disappearance without trial for penetrating Area 51.

She stood back as two officers exited the vehicle.

"_Ganz ruhig, alle!"_ the shorter, female one commanded, while the driver stood back. _"Was ist los?"_

"_Das Arschloch, er hat sich absichtlich über mich übergeben!" _the tall man shouted furiously.

Jo guessed it had to be about the vomiting. And he was taking his honor very seriously. Why not just let it be? Around festivals, shit would always happen. Though Ian was possibly making it worse, still standing in his "ready" posture, scanning around with his head, ready to strike at the first one to approach him.

"_Es ist für die beste, das du mit uns kommst_," the policewoman addressed Ian.

And almost as fast as it started, the scene was over, Ian getting himself confined to the back of the police cruiser without further protest. The three were left standing in their vomit-stained clothes as the vehicle slowly accelerated away.

And Jo's mind raced in furious overdrive.

Fuck. She had to risk it. She had to find where they were taking him and get him out, if at all possible. No matter what the consequences would be.

She broke into a run, following the cruiser as fast as she could.


	3. Chapter 3

Somewhat out of breath, Jo barged in through the entrance doors to the Ballenstedt police station. At least it was still open, and there was a receptionist manning the front desk.

Calm down, she instructed herself. Don't give anything critical away. After pausing for a few seconds, she strode toward the desk in a calmer fashion, though it was all an act. Inside her mind was still almost boiling.

There was no way in hell she could converse in German, so she did not even bother trying.

"Excuse me. I'm Kate. Kate Wallace. My … boyfriend was quite intoxicated, and he was taken in by a patrol car. Was he brought here? Jack Owens is the name. He's wearing a light blue denim vest, and has fair hair. Anyone like that in your custody?"

The anxiety in Jo's voice was both acted and real.

"Let me check," the young man said in a funny, slow accent, then made a few mouse clicks. "Also, please let me see identification."

Damn. Jo just needed to risk the scrutiny, as refusing would have been too suspicious. With perhaps too much care, she dug out the fake driving license and handed it over. It had been expertly made by Vlad's partners, and the receptionist hopefully was yet inexperienced, so there was not necessarily that much risk.

The man handed the card back only after a few seconds, then spoke.

"Ja. Checks out. There was a person fitting this description brought in. For his safety, we keep him through the night. Please come back in the morning."

"Thank you. I will do that."

With that, Jo turned around and strode toward the exit. It could have been worse. Possibly Ian was going to be fined, perhaps not even that, and he would be out in the morning. It was probably not worth risking an all-out assault on the precinct just to get him out sooner. He would possibly have one hell of a hangover in the drunk tank, but that could no longer be helped.

As for Jo, the walk back to the camping area would hopefully serve to clear and calm her head, and then she would just sleep. Without further incidents.

Only when Jo had walked one block away, she thought of something. Ian's metal heart. How would it respond to the hangover and possibly uneven metabolism? It functioned on the body's own electricity and required one to eat enough.

Fuck. If he would die inside the station, Jo would never forgive herself for not assaulting it. But probably, she just had to hope it would all turn out all right. She could not really go back to the receptionist either and start talking of Ian's condition. She would have been confined as crazy, and in the worst case, officials higher up, possibly military, would be contacted! Then they would certainly examine her with scrutiny and find out her true identity.

Fuck, for real.

.

Ian tried to lie down on the hard bench, but it kept spinning round, and he fell to the just as hard concrete floor. He felt almost no pain, just heard a loud slam and registered the impact as if happening outside his body. But more vomit was certainly coming up his throat. In the corner of the cell, there was a promising, large steel bucket. If he only made it that far...

The cell was not empty, Ian had noticed, the two other occupants deep in their own personal deliriums, making occasional noises. They were not confrontational. In other words, not the worst fate Ian could have imagined. Certainly better than sharing the cell with the man Ian had vomited over.

But the next emission was going to happen right now, so Ian had to scramble. He almost tipped the bucket over, but managed to right it at the last second. He thanked his lizard-brain that would always take over in times of need. Almost like dissociation itself, or entering Agent-Time.

Taking aim at the center, he let go.

This time there certainly was pain! His stomach convulsed to the maximum as he gorged out its contents. He felt some semi-solid chunks of food lodging themselves near his throat, and swallowed to try again. The taste – as far as he could taste – was honestly disgusting.

Then he let go again, the splashes of vomit echoing inside the bucket.

Finally, the vomiting was over for now. In cold sweat, Ian collapsed to the floor, then backed away carefully from the bucket to not tip it over now. Briefly, he made eye contact with the guy closer to him, who was dangerously gaunt-faced. Possibly an addict. Ian felt some sense of empathy, but did not exactly long to know him better, and this feeling seemed mutual. They both turned their heads away.

After a minute of regaining his strength, with a sharp, hammering headache starting to set in and replace the feeling of fullness in his stomach, Ian made it back to the bench.

If what he had thought earlier was true, and the world was only an illusion made for him, it was a most peculiar one. If Ian was to believe in Hell, for him it would certainly include repeated intoxication, hangover and vomiting.

To think like that at this moment was actually surprisingly lucid.

Ian also thought of Jo, who had been left behind. He could not really blame her for not intervening before the police. They had arrived too fast. Better have only one of them locked up, than both.


	4. Chapter 4

After the trek back to the festival area and their tent, Jo certainly felt tired – physically. But as soon as she crawled inside, and tried to lie down, she knew her mind was far too agitated. Despite having gone through the night's events several times, and concluding that there was little she could have done differently, she could not get rest.

Therefore she put her clothes back on and headed back outside. Most of the festivalgoers' noise had already quieted down, though there was still the occasional drunken shout from further away. As it was half past 3 AM now, it was not even long until the sun would rise again.

Jo just could not stop thinking of Ian in the holding cell.

She rationalized that beer contained plenty of energy, not to speak of the meat and fried chips Ian had wolfed down, so he should have plenty of energy for the night even if vomiting some of it out. Also, he practically had had no problems with the heart so far, just getting hungry easier and more often than before.

With little to do, Jo dug into her pockets, and got the Fiesta's key out. She sure as hell was not going to do any driving, but perhaps listening to the radio would calm her down. As long as she would not stumble upon some weird conspiracy show, that could be triggering.

Sitting inside, Jo noticed the two Metal Opera CD's lying on top of the console.

Maybe she should listen to them now, considering how obsessively Ian had been spinning them around. Then she would know at least the band's early output better when they'd play live.

If they'd get that far, Jo thought somewhat ominously.

Fuck. Almost instantly she felt much more anxious. Without wanting to dwell on it too much, she powered up the car stereo and loaded the first CD in, then opened the booklet and started to read.

It did not take long for her to form her own odd interpretation of the Metal Opera story. Of course she was the renegade cleric Gabriel. And the heresy his stepsister Anna (Ian) had been accused of, was the drunkenness and vomiting. And now Gabriel waited for the right moment to spring Anna out. Fuck. It fit too well.

But the music was good, surprisingly so, including the interplay of several excellent vocalists. Jo even devised a drinking game. Every time they would say "castigation" one would have to take a drink. Not that she was going to drink anything more now.

Little by little, Jo started to feel drowsy. The CD had progressed to the point where Gabriel had entered the mystical realm of Avantasia.

And then, just as she was about to fall asleep, she felt – or remembered – a most horrible sensation. It jolted her fully awake.

If it was even possible, the sensation was as if her mind was being sucked to an infinitely small point inside her brain, inside a black void, and unable to get out. Worse, it was connected to her having failed Ian somehow in the past. They had not really discussed much the events leading to his capture and the installation of the metal heart, or if they had, Jo had lost most of it – but was it potentially so that he had actually died first? In that case, the mind-sucking sensation could have been the artificial AI personality Fury taking over at that exact moment.

Even as Jo tried to rationalize it, that it could never happen again because she had purged the AI from her brain by force, she could not stop the spinning of her mind. Somehow she thought of it as a warning, an omen. That Ian would possibly die inside the cell, and then, through some fuckery of space and time, or perhaps just from plain losing it, her mind would get trapped again.

It was honestly horrible. The spinning sensation was turning physical.

It did not help that the first Metal Opera was reaching its climax, where the booming voice of The Tower (whatever that was) was talking about the seven parts of the seal, that needed to be thrown. Jo interpreted that as her mind splitting into seven parts. Roughly like Ian's dissociation taken to the worst extreme.

Fuck.

In disgust, Jo reached for the power switch of the car stereo, shut it off, then sunk low in the driver seat.

.

The headache had reached some kind of a climax. It would or could not get worse. Fuck you, Ian thought almost in triumph. I will survive you, like I have survived countless hangovers before.

But then Ian shifted on the bench again, and fell again to the floor. He realized he felt much more uncoordinated than before, and cold. Almost shivering.

His first suspicion was the metal heart. Was it giving up now...?

But no, it was still thudding in a steady pace. Possibly little faster than normal.

The next sensation, as Ian tried to get up for real, was a flaring pain in his stomach. He fell back. He also felt like vomiting again. And so, in slow agony, he crawled toward the bucket.

Halfway in, he realized he would not make it in time.

But nothing would come out, except some little bile. He had already thoroughly emptied himself.

Right after, Ian thought he felt both cold and hot at the same time. He saw the insides of the cell as if through a wavering fog. And he knew it had to be a fever. Possibly an infection from the festival food.

Fuck, to be stuck here ill.

Or perhaps … this was just a simulation or other form of false reality. He was being tested by a simulated sickness. Right now the thought felt almost pleasing. As soon as this ordeal was over, he would be placed into some other simulation, perhaps a combat training simulation, and all the fever and stomach pain and hangover would just instantaneously vanish.

He started laughing quietly to himself.

Then he heard approaching hard footsteps, and saw a hazy figure in uniform standing behind the bars.

"Alles in Ordnung? Are you OK?" the figure asked.

Weakly, Ian rose to a sitting position. If he would fail the simulation, there was the risk it would start over. So he would reveal nothing, play it cool.

"Sure … Just resting a little."

His voice was hoarse, barely recognizable as his own, but the figure seemed pleased, going away. The test would continue. As soon as Ian was sure there was no-one else but the two cellmates, he slumped back to the floor.


	5. Chapter 5

This is probably how a braindead zombie must feel like, Jo thought as she sort of woke up – she was not sure how much of the time she had been actually asleep. The sun was shining directly at her face.

The clock of the Fiesta said slightly past 8 AM. They possibly had let Ian go already, or were going to do that soon. Which meant Jo would have to be on her way.

A trip to the nearby toilet booth confirmed that she was not at her best coordination. Driving carried a definite risk in this state.

She climbed back inside the Fiesta, started the engine, and started reversing out of their lot very carefully, until she could turn forward to the "main road" leading out of the festival parking area.

No accidents so far. No tent casualties. It was going almost too good.

On to the next intersection, and then her luck almost ran out. A group of early metalheads on foot crossing over the road, and Jo almost ran over them! She braked forcefully, just in time, and they looked at her in a hostile fashion.

Fuck. Now Jo knew she certainly was a risk in traffic. She needed to focus doubly as much. But she also needed to get out of here. As soon as the way was clear, Jo gunned the engine again, keeping her eyes peeled.

Finally she was on the proper road, headed toward the police station. Thankfully the actual traffic was light at this hour.

.

With creeping disgust Ian had understood that there probably was not going to be sudden transport away from this suffering into another reality. Instead he was stuck in his current one. Noises increased outside the cell, so a new day had begun. They concerned him very little, though, coming muffled and instinct.

He no longer felt cold, so the fever had stabilized. The stomach still hurt, but probably not as bad. But he certainly was as far from combat ready as one could be.

The noise from the outside intensified, until Ian understood that the same figure from earlier had returned, but it looked like he was going to ... open the cell door?

Was this freedom already?

"Herr Owens?" the figure spoke.

It took some time from Ian to understand that it meant him. Then he was on his feet, very unsteadily so. But if the pathway to another reality was opening, he had to be ready. He was not going to miss the chance.

.

"Jack!" Jo shouted as Ian emerged from the corridor, escorted by an officer, and practically threw her arms around him.

Jo understood that just as well she might have shouted the wrong name. But right now, she had no words for how glad she was to see Ian again, to confirm that he had not died during the night. She did not quite want to let him go – the point of the extra-long embrace was also to make the officers uncomfortable. That was the least they deserved. Well, possibly they had seen far more disturbing reunions and this was nothing to them.

But Jo observed that Ian's forehead was rather hot. So it was not just a hangover. He also looked almost like he had aged half a decade, with sacks under his eyes, and he had trouble standing up. Damn! They needed to get out of here fast.

Jo let go finally. "Come on. The Fiesta is just outside," she said, and they began the uneven and shaky walk out of this hellhole.

Outside, Ian practically collapsed to the passenger seat.

"We need to get you to a doctor," Jo said as she climbed in and was already starting the engine. She found herself to be operating practically on autopilot, her own disturbed night only like a bad dream now.

"It'll take hours," Ian groaned slowly. "I think it's going away. And anyone – declassified – shouldn't find out about this thing. Let's just get back to the tent."

Jo was not sure if that was the responsible thing to do, but finding out about the metal heart would mean in the worst case NATO officials being contacted, so Ian had a point.

Fuck! Would it be like that the rest of their lives, that Ian could not ever get medical attention in risk of being found out? It sounded just so evil and wrong.

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I just need to rest ... and drink. Not beer. But like soda, with proper sugar. There's plenty of energy, right?"

Jo smiled faintly as they got going. He would have the permission to drink practically as much as he wanted. She also thought that now Gabriel had broken Anna free. She thought of whether she should mention it aloud, but thought better of it for now.


	6. Chapter 6

The ground inside the tent was uneven, and the foam pads they had bought were too thin to help with it much. But still it beat the drunk tank bench by a wide margin. Ian was lying on top of the sleeping bag, since it was far too hot to be inside.

He thought that Jo had done too much, bringing him very sugary and unhealthy drinks, and even a small vegetarian hamburger, since he was already feeling a little hungry, and his stomach no longer hurt. But she also looked somehow rather sad, which did not sit right with him.

"Hey, you've done enough. I'll be just fine now. Go watch the bands," Ian said.

"I didn't get much sleep," Jo replied. "And there's not anything good before ... Moonspell I guess."

"I'm sorry for the trouble. You could come here and sleep now."

"No, it's not any –"

The rest of the words seemed to be stuck in Jo's throat. She looked profoundly uneasy, and Ian could not exactly understand why. Of course it had been a rough night for both of them –

Maybe Jo had had it even worse for some reason, Ian concluded.

For one more time, Ian contemplated whether this was reality or not. And even, whether Jo was real or not. But he concluded that even if she was not, she still needed to feel better. In other words, what would Gabriel do?

Ian stumbled up into a crab-walk to get closer to her, almost knocking her over. But the intention was what mattered. In the next moment he managed to properly close his arms around her.

"You can tell me," Ian said. He was not even completely sure if there was anything especial to tell.

"I thought you would die in the cell," Jo breathed.

Ian held her closer. "It's going to take more than a hangover and a stomach flu."

"And I thought I would lose myself again. I actually remembered how it felt like –"

Ian felt almost like a shock going through him. He was very surprised that Jo could recall something so deeply intertwined to the presence of the artificial personality, as its destruction by the Area 51 technology should also have also destroyed most of Jo's memories related to it. Or so they had thought.

But now there was practically no room to hug Jo any tighter without actually hurting, so Ian considered what more he could do.

Jo went on. "And I know it shouldn't even be possible. But that didn't stop me from being afraid. I had been listening to the fucking Metal Opera, and I thought myself as Gabriel. I know that doesn't make any sense either. Fuck, I'm messed up..."

Actually, it made very much sense. But Jo needed to hear she was not the only one. Ian looked her in the eyes, and considered just for a moment more whether the revelation would be unwise.

"Jo, I actually understand all that very much. Now I'm going to tell something that's either funny or very messed up too. I also thought of myself as Gabriel when I read the lyrics for the first time."

"What?"

"But that's not all. Lately … I've been unsure of whether I even am in reality. Not all the time, but sometimes. So you're certainly not the one that's more messed up."

"Fuck. So we're … both like that."

Ian tried his best to sound convincing. "But we'll come through. Like we've done so far. Now, you think you could get some sleep?"

"I guess I'll have to try."

.

At some point Ian had dozed off too. Now he woke up to a quite heavy feeling, and indeed, Jo was sleeping on top of him in a somewhat chaotic heap. Ian thought that it would possibly look like that if an angel had crashlanded. It was very easy to think that was what Jo was to him. The thought almost brought tears to his eyes.

Then he remembered something else … something more amusing. He rarely thought of his childhood in any good sense, as his parents had apparently been feeding him chemicals to get him ready for SCEPTRE training, while acting as if nothing was going on.

But it was a cartoon series he remembered, which he had to have seen at a rather young age. The Japanese animated rendition of the Moomin characters. In one of the episodes, Snorkmaiden would get into an accident up in the mountains, fall and roll downhill in an epic fashion (which really should have killed her), and finally crash into a tree and get knocked out. Moomintroll would arrive at the scene, rather concerned, and try to carry Snorkmaiden back home. With their body shapes, it would not go exactly as planned, and he would get pinned down in a quite similar position.

Fuck. If Ian thought of it, that was one more to an already an insane list of comparisons.

Quote and Curly Brace

Gabriel and Anna

Moomintroll and Snorkmaiden.

Fuck, indeed. Ian stopped himself just short of laughing, to not wake Jo up. She would need all the rest she could get.

.

Jo dreamed of being in some sort of mythical place. Standing in the grass there was a huge stone monolith, with pagan markings all over it, and fog all around. She was quite sure the monolith was the gateway between Avantasia and the real world. But in any case, it was inert now. The pathway through had been closed, possibly for good.

She also knew she was Gabriel.

"We closed it," a voice called out.

She turned to look and saw another Gabriel. This was very easy to decipher, even through the dream-logic. He was of course Ian, but there was the question whether this was the side of reality or not, and if it was not, would they ever get back?

Also, what if they both were clones of Anna instead? In the original Metal Opera story she had not had much to do except to wait either to be rescued, or to be burned at the stake. But if they were now free, she would probably have an easier time moving around concealed, picking off enemies one by one.

Suddenly the monolith began to rumble subsonically, and before any enemies could appear, Jo woke up with a lurch.


	7. Chapter 7

The rumble still continued as Jo opened her eyes. Compared to the cool and foggy place she had been spirited away from, the inside of the tent was almost overwhelming with the hot, stale air. Definitely less pleasant.

Some more seconds, and Jo understood the rumble had to be the intro tape of some band about to start their set. Possibly Moonspell. But there was no way she would get to see it in its entirety. To be honest, she felt like shit, especially the sticky feeling from sleeping with clothes on, and needed to get seriously refreshed first.

It seemed Ian was also waking up.

"Morning. Or which time is it?" he asked.

"It's Moonspell time, I think. How you're doing?"

"Better. And you? Slept well? No nightmares?"

"I … dreamed of the Avantasia gate. It wasn't a nightmare. We were both Gabriel. I guess it makes sense, considering Anna is such a damsel to the maximum and doesn't practically do anything all through the Metal Operas."

Ian let off a short laugh. "Damsel to the maximum. Got to remember that. But hey. Remember that I never mind if you're a little like that. Like sleeping on top of me."

.

Somehow all of the music right now was related to various mind-altering substances, or altered states of the mind, and Ian felt a little sick at the thought, especially under the relentless blaze of the sun. After showering, they had been just in time to hear Moonspell play "Opium" a few songs into their set, and now Alestorm was on the stage.

Ian certainly wouldn't dream of drinking ale for some time.

There was also a pit going on in the front, but there was no way in hell he would join now either. He just sat with Jo quite far from the stage, next to the fenced-off mixing console. It was a very laid-back way to experience the festival, but at least Ian did not need to lie down any more.

Ian thought of simulations and false realities once more. Simulating all of this crowd would need enormous processing power, and if it was just a simulation for him … it was improbable. So maybe he would just accept that he was in fact in reality.

.

Finally it was time for this day's headliner, Accept. The light had faded and the air was finally cooling down, so now they sat against each other. Jo thought she had been dissociating from the music, which was a weird feeling. Something like Dragonforce, whose songs were almost all hyper-fast, had gone from one ear to the other. All the skillful playing was kind of wasted in a blur, and Jo could not connect much with the lyrics either.

Well, there would be other performances to come, where she would be more present. Maybe even their own at some point.

It was the song roughly at the midpoint of Accept's set, which jolted Jo to more awareness.

It was a slow, stomping, almost mournful song, called "Shadow Soldiers." The viewpoint was a soldier singing from the grave after his war was over, but Jo thought it felt very much applicable to her and Ian.

_In freedom you live, that's why we've given it all_

Jo turned to look at him, and it seemed he had been thinking just the same.

"That's us, isn't it?" he said. "But we're alive."

Indeed. It was something to keep in mind. Even if they were a little messed up from time to time. Jo felt the overwhelming need to pull Ian in her lap for the rest of the song.


	8. Chapter 8

Ian woke up in the darkness. It was again a little too hot for comfort. He was sweating, which was probably a good sign, if the fever was finally vanishing for good. He also felt rather hungry.

But suddenly he got alarmed. Jo was nowhere to be seen. This was the moment when he could have let a hundred paranoid scenarios play out in his mind, but he forced himself to calm down.

He fell back on the sleeping bag, and just listened.

There were some faint, even-pitched noises coming from the outside. That was quite a good hint of what to expect. Without even putting more clothes on, he opened the tent flap and peered outside.

True enough, Jo was sitting against the Fiesta, playing long notes into the night on her entry-level red Jackson, unplugged. Ian had a similar one, a JS22. They were just about playable, but nothing to write home about. The point of such cheap purchases was that they would not be a big loss if they suddenly needed to be abandoned, or got stolen.

Jo stopped as she saw Ian peering through.

"I guess I'm rested enough," she said. "A little fucked up day-night cycle."

"It's the same for me. But go on, I'll listen."

Ian scrambled for his heap of clothes and began putting them on, while he listened. It was a kind of haunting, even beautiful minor key melody, still within metal, but not what Jo would compose usually. It did not sound at all like the thrash-black compositions they had been making.

"You just came up with that?" Ian asked, as he finished dressing up, and Jo had paused for a while.

"Just improvising."

"It's great. Like, for real. I'm not saying that just to make you feel good."

"Well, now I guess I forgot about it already."

"Is it about something?"

Jo took her time to answer. "I don't know. Maybe … about leaving things behind."

That sounded melancholy. And it resembled very much what Jo had been playing long ago, in the Cyberpriest rehearsal bunker, when she had taught Ian how to play leads. The subject would have made sense even then. Like, leaving his father behind. Or the doomed relationship with René.

"Makes sense."

"But you can't use that kind of melody in what we're supposed to be doing. That has to bash in heads."

Ian thought Jo was being a little too puritanical for her own good. He kind of understood the point though, as a new band they would only get to play short shows at first, like half an hour, and it better be just all-out aggression to make a lasting impression.

"Hey … uh … I'm a little hungry. I guess there's nothing here at the festival area open at this time, so should we head out to the town?" Ian asked.

Jo unslung the guitar and prepared to put it back inside the Fiesta's trunk.

"Sure. Just hop in."

.

The road was very empty, so Jo was pushing the little hatchback close to the red line. Ian was not sure if it was strictly necessary, but it made sense if she was to be the female equivalent to Yngwie, who used to own several Ferrari's, and drove them very fast. So fast that one of them got wrapped around a tree once.

Ian could not say he was actually frightened, but he sure kept looking into every direction, to make sure they would not run into the cops.

"It could be a bad commercial for a burger chain or something. Like, we're in hurry to get you fed, so we have to speed," Jo explained.

.

The sun was already emitting a faint red glow on the horizon as Ian and Jo exited the 24/7 fast food joint back to the parking lot, where the Fiesta stood as the only vehicle nearby. To be honest, eating a large kebab was like tempting fate after the run-in with the fever, but Ian guessed he wanted to prove himself to being in almost full health already. And it sure had tasted greasy and unhealthy, just like his metal heart liked it best.

While eating, he had kind of formulated what they should be doing next. The sunrise would actually be a perfect backdrop. It would be badass.

"You know that thing when you fight back-to-back?" Ian asked Jo as they reached the Fiesta.

"Yes ... but why?"

"Let's do that, but with guitars. Like, play some shit that's only for ourselves. Forget about what we should be playing to the crowd."

Jo looked like she did not quite get the idea.

"Sure … I guess. What's the genre?"

"Fluff power metal? Like Avantasia and Yngwie and Dragonforce combined. Or whatever we come up with. It doesn't have to be exactly that."

They dug the two Jacksons out of the trunk and strapped them on.

Before they would start, Ian checked the power level of his cell phone – it had roughly one third left. Likely enough. In secret, he activated the sound recorder.

As the red glow had intensified a little, they climbed to sit on top of the Fiesta's bonnet, back to back. That was precisely the right position, though Ian was just a little afraid their combined weight could make a permanent dent.

Ian started with a quite unimaginative, fast rhythm guitar riff. Dm – F – Am – C. Jo joined in with a higher melody line. Then they would go into a "verse," then a "chorus" though there were of course no proper vocal lines to go along. It was all just improvising.

It was quite far from the thrash he had played before, and Ian certainly did not have illusions that he could make this a career, considering there were countless more skilled players and bands in the genre. But the point was just to have fun. The solo section was just completely over the top. Jo played mad tapping and sweep picking lines, until the guitar was clearly out of tune, and Ian continued with something that was like Kirk Hammett and Eric / Brian Hoffman combined.

Then they launched into another song, which was a power ballad of sorts. The lyrical content was quite easy to imagine. It would be pure fluff.

This went on, with more improvised songs following, until the sun was clearly over the horizon and painfully bright to look at. The final chords of a sort of an epic closing song faded into the morning air.

Ian turned to look at Jo.

The way the sun reflected from her hair and eyes was something he had no words for. Judging from the way she smiled, she had been having a total blast too.

"That was something. Too bad it was like … compose-only music. But that's probably for the best. Think of Erik, if he heard that. He'd accuse us of sell-out and false metal for the rest of our lives," she breathed.

"Well, about that … I recorded all of it. But he doesn't have to hear," Ian replied.

What happened next was a bit of a blur, but at least they found out that kissing with two entry-level Jacksons in the way was not a good idea, so they had to get rid of them. It was definitely better without.

"I guess we're not Gabriel and Anna now?" Ian managed to say.

"Noooo," Jo laughed. There were tears of joy in her eyes, and Ian certainly could not think of a sunrise to top this one. Their next kiss was also such that Ian could not remember something quite like that happening, at least during their road trip. So very long and soft, and it seemed to always start again when Ian thought it would be over. Had it been from a movie, it would definitely have required the camera orbiting them and the Fiesta, not just once but several times.

.

The next day Rockharz was finally coming to a close. After Avantasia, there would still be two more bands, but for Ian and Jo this was the climax already, considering how they had been listening to the Metal Operas, and even improvising their own material of the same genre.

After finally getting back to the camping area, and sleeping well into the midday, they had discussed a little. That every time they would find themselves somewhat down, they could remember that jam session. It could represent that there could be even better things ahead than what they had left behind.

Now the intro tape "Also sprach Zarathrusta" finished, and the first actual song began as the band rushed onstage. Ian did not recognize it. But from the start it was obvious that Avantasia would play differently live. Harder, faster, less cute.

And of course that made sense. Better to keep the audience's energy up. The whole band, plus the vocalists, were doing a massively fine job. But did that mean still … that theirs was not the ultimate fluff metal?

Instinctively, Ian's hand went to his pocket containing the cell phone, as he contemplated this.

THE END


End file.
